
Class ___ 
Book 



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SIERRA MADRE 



-AND- 



OTHER POEMS 



Suggested by and written among the various scenes and circumstances 
attending a life spent wandering aimlessly over the mountains 
and plains in the Great West — of which they are but a 
feeble and unworthy desc.iption — and the inci- 
dents attendant upon an impetuous and en- 
thusiastic nature thrown upon its 
own resources amidst such 
surroundings. 




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CHEYENNE, W YO.: 



DAILY LEADER PRINT. 
1883. 



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rV 



COPYRIGHTED 1883. 




BY B. B. D. 






ct 



4- 



PREFACE. 



As there can be no possible excuse for an author to 
publish his productions and force them upon an 
indulgent and inoffensive public, I shall attempt no 
justification whatever ; a natural inclination has in- 
duced me to write, and after writing, the same has 
aroused a desire to place my writings before the public, 
to whose candor and justice I am willing to submit, 
as it rarely misjudges and even more rarely under- 
rates. To the critical I shall quote an extract from 
the preface of Shelley's immortal "Prometheus Un- 
bound:" * * * "Let the uncandid consider that they 
injure me less than their own hearts and minds by 
misrepresentation. Whatever talents a person may 
possess to amuse or instruct others, be they ever so 
inconsiderable, he is yet bound to exert them. If 
his attempts be ineffectual, let the punishment of an 
unaccomplished purpose have been sufficient. Let 
none trouble themselves to heap the dust of oblivion 
upon his efforts — the pile they raise will betray his 
grave, which might otherwise have been unknown." 



What that may be has never yet been told — 

A thing not to be seen nor can be heard : — 

The heart in secret must forever fold 

The bitter woe — the offspring of a word — 

How deep and dread and sadly can be stirred 

The tranquil waters of affection's fount! 

How high the cup of sorrow can be poured ! 

How many pangs life's even can recount, 

And o'er the arch of woe triumphant yet can mount ! 

In love's sweet music all that e'er was sung 
Might still be sung of thee, and yet in vain : — 
From out the heart's deep fountain can be wrung 
But the faint echo of its joy or pain. 
To know, one must behold, and I would fain 
Have heaped high words in memory of thee, 
But they had been to thee but as abstain — 
To thy sweet self a wanton mockery — 
And serve but to pollute thy virgin purity. 

Were beauty virtue, thou wert pure and sweet 
As angels roving in the faultless sky ! 
Were virtue beauty, gods alone might meet 
The melting rapture of thy kindling eye! 
Who looks on thee must love thee, and I try 
In vain a thought that mingles not with thee ; 
Tho' years have swept with lessening sorrow by, 
Enough of that sad memory clings with me 
To sadden all I sing and darken all I see. 



SIERRA MADRE. 



Along these rugged peaks that mark a chain — 
The spinal column of a continent — 
Where far to East or West the unbroken plain 
Rolls one unvaried wave of yellow tint: — 
Where reared aloft the frowning battlement 
'Gainst Nature's fierce and elemental strife. 
With many a rugged scar and yawning rent 
That turn to years, when wild convulsion rife 
Moved these unpeopled hills to momentary life! 

"Here where one only hour would banish pain 

And calm the rising storm of discontent — ," 

"Here will I sit and pore upon a strain," 

And give my heart's wild feelings welcome vent. 

'Mid such as this my fleeting hours were spent 

To scale the peak or trace! the winding glen; 

To search aljne the mountain's caverned rent 

And fearlessly usurp the wild beast's den, 

And slumbering there await till morning came again. 



8 SIERRA MADRE, 

Here, where a nation's picket scout had stood 

Scarce four-score years ago, a lonely band, 

The sole surveyors of the solitude 

With wonders heaped immeasurably grand ; 

With freedom's golden banner in their hand 

They found a lit and kindred element 

To flaunt it wildly in a stranger land, 

And to the wild its own sweet freedom sent 

And dulled for aj'e the dread oblivion long had lent. 

Here, where no human step had trod before 
Save the wild savage, he whose very name 
Had sent a trembling shudder to the core 
Of thousand bosoms, until he became 
A living demon on the page of fame, 
Unsought, unknown by him, yet none the less 
The fearful author of his crimes and shame : — 
Abandon, cunning, death and wickedness 
Blent unalloyed in him and built their own excess. 

Here, wdiere e'en half the brief hours icily swept 
Since first a nation heard and breathed of thee, 
Thy pregnant charms in dreamy silence slept 
The sleep of morn when night unheededly 
Steals into day, and we can only see 
Darkness and light — no sweet gradation fills 
The lovely change, the page of memory, 
But empire's ray, a cloudless sunbeam, thrills 
Across the pathless waste and lights her loftiest hills. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 9 

Ye mighty hills, thy chasms are to me 

A home more lovely than the gilded hall, 

Where, nursed in laps of bloated luxury, 

The heart grows pregnant with the bitter gall 

Of discontent, and misery, and all 

The thousand ills begot by pampered Ease, 

Which men in their mind's weakness do miscall 

Rest, recreation, the sweet name of peace, 

Where sorrow bids farewell and raptures never cease. 

Ye lofty peaks, I sit me here alone 
Where thrice ten thousand years have swept away ! 
Thy very rocks and crags seem to have grown 
With their twin brother Time, and day by day 
Thy cliffs have whitened with his locks of gray ! 
Enduring still, with him, will still endure, 
And laugh to scorn the prospects of decay ; 
With bosom bare the tempests might allure, 
Though poured forth in its gloom and all its fresh- 
ness pure. 

In meditation wrapt, I here recline 
And gaze around me, and behold I there, 
Where Wisdom's Power, Omnipotence Divine, 
Hath swept the hand of wise creative care ; 
Hath breathed his glowing wisdom from afar, 
And saw the deed speed with His flying thought;— 
Saw worlds on worlds from chaos bleak appear— 



10 SIERRA MADRE, 

Spring into life by Power Supreme begot, 
And in each moulded mite that Greatest Wisdom 
taught. 

And ye who doubt the all-prevailing power, 

Go don more righteous garb, and walk with me ; 

To reason yield one solitary hour 

And burst the bonds of ignorance, and be free ; 

Accept the thousand truths that shine for thee 

Like beacon lights along life's weary way ; 

Read thou o'er Nature's face Divinity ; 

Go to his holy shrine and reverence pay, 

Nor let weak vanity thy soul again betray. 

Go scale the mountain to its very height, 
And with his wondrous works communion hold : 
Pursue the soaring eagle in his flight, 
Nor soon forget what they to thee have told ; 
Go watch the mighty river that hath rolled 
Its purple waters since the birth of Time ; 
Gaze on the myriads that it doth enfold ; 
Gaze on the forest in its summer's prime, 
And doubt no more of God, nor question works 
sublime. 

Along the east horizon's crystal verge 
I see the golden Sun proclaim 'tis day. 
The dove still coos her melancholy dirge 
Above the lost companion of her way ; 



AND OTHEB POEMS. 11 

The eouger flees before the early ray 
That broke the fruitless vigil of the night, 
Or, lingering o'er the still fresh-bleeding prey, 
The parting pangs a moment soothe affright, 
And make him dare to tempt the morning's open 
light. 

I see the yellow ray to gild the land, 

And through the mist of morning sweetly glow. 

From peak to peak the smiling beam hath spanned 

The listless plain that slumbers yet below. 

Adown the distant slope I see it flow, 

And mark how swift, yet lovely, is the pace 

That bears along, as onward still doth go, 

The fleeting line still flying to the base, 

To spread her golden smiles o'er nature's dewy face. 

And now she bounds e'en with a wilder leap ! 

A flash hath lit the semi-boundless plain 

As the blue wave along the shore doth sweep 

When tempest's rage hath stirred the distant main ; 

And light and life are smiling here again, 

Twin spheres, whose essence is the breath of day. 

Ah, lend thy wings to my aspiring strain, 

That it may soar in an ethereal ray 

And gather tints to gild the laurel of my lay. 

I see the murmuring stream still winding on 
As far as eye can trace its fringed way, 



2 SIERRA MADRE, 

And leaps in laughing bubbles to the Sun, 

And shines a silver thread beneath her ray ; 

And sweet lone how tranquil dost thou lay 

As if to breathe a Moslem's sacred rite. 

And now the first red gleam of rising day 

Hath climbed above yon mountain's dizzy height, 

And sweet but slowly sheds o'er thee her golden light. 

'Tis like the placid ray serenely stealing 
With the hushed numbers of an infant's dream, 
When pangs of joy within the bosom swelling 
Flash o'er the face, contentment's happy beam, 
And through the soul's bright mirror there does 

gleam 
The soft, pure ray that calmly glows within, 
As midnight tapers through the lattice stream 
When moonless skies with lowering tempests grin, — 
As one pure, righteous act lights through a life of sin. 

Ah, flickering beam, thou'rt but the blaze of hope 
Built on the wick by dreaming fancy wove, 
By the ten thousand tinted threads that slope 
In misting radiance from the wings of dove, 
And eagle pinioned Innocence, and Love, 
Fed by the fount of truth's o'erftowing urn, 
Blending inextricably as from above 
The countless beams of heavenly splendor burn, 
Which through the vail that hides eternity, we 
discern. 



AND OTHEB POEMS. 13 

But where, alas! my weary muse are we? 

Our wanton flight perhaps hath been amiss ; 

So fold thy wings, and sit awhile with me 

Upon the overhanging precipice 

Whose rugged brink frow r ns on the dread abyss 

That yawns in sleep-unnurtured age below. 

Turn thy mute lips in ecstasy, and kiss 

The summer cloud that's lightly hovering now 

Along the jagged steep — the mountain's craggy brow. 

And deep around, the blue aerial sea 
Waves its soft billows in the morning breeze, 
As the long pennant streams incessantly 
When the huge prow divides the glassy seas. 
A crimson cloud hangs o'er the western trees — 
The last lone shadow that to morning clings 
As the last glimpse of fading phantasies, 
Suspended lightly on their buoyant wings, 
Float on the far horizon of sleep's imaginings. 

A thistle-down floats on the seeming tide 
That bears away against the northern sky — 
Along the rippling surface seems to glide, 
And now hath sped beyond my -anxious eye. 
I lingered on its course, I know not why, 
Save that it heralds my own destiny. 
Forced on the tide of time to fag or fly — 
Lost in the whirlwind, wrecked upon the sea — 
What boots it? the same end — and all — eternity. 



14 SIERBA MABBE, 

Eternity! thou art a fearful sound, 

And hast a woeful echo to the ear. 

The heart leaps low and dull to the far bound 

Of all we know, or feel, or hope to fear ; 

And, gazing in a trance, a hollow, drear 

And desolate pulse usurps the weary breast — 

The bitter scenes of life seem doubly dear, 

And life, though loathed, is still a welcome guest 

With which the soul as yet seems to be duly blest. 

On high the eagle cleaves the arching sky 

And fills the solitude with clarion scream, 

And soars toward the noonday Sun; the eye 

In dizziness of sight, as in a dream 

Hath traced his flight to itself, doth seem 

Forever lost the speck that motionless 

Still kept its circling flight. I deem 

That he is gone : with freshened eye I press 

My eager gaze and see — but what I only guess. 

And far below the wild stag lingers still 
Where slowly night withdraws her less'ning shade. 
The stars have scarce ceased sparkling in the rill, 
Nor dewy mists forsook the narrow glade, 
His noiseless step which never yet betrajed, 
He plants with nimble ease and thoughtless pride, 
Nips the green twig or crops the dewy blade, 
And rolls his keen dark eye on every side. 
But look! he leaps — he sinks — what fate can this be- 
tide? 



AND OTHER POEMS. 15 

Above yon hill the blue smoke softly curls ; 
And now the pealing echo strikes mine ear. 
Against the towering precipice it hurls. 
And answers to itself thrice doubly drear. 
Alas ! it makes no more the trembling fear 
Within a guiltless heart that's sunk to rest ! 
I see its drooping head sink meekly there ; 
Upon the cold, hard earth 'tis lightly pressed, 
And life's dull throbbing pulse forever fled his breast. 

Ah, wanton wretch, did pity never wake 

The slumbering conscience in thy bosom core, 

And pangs of sobbing mercy ever break, 

And long thy pulse her tender spirit pour? 

Seek thou her shrine and kneel thou at her door, 

And ask what yet thou never didst allow ; 

Call thy dark frowning deeds of wanton o'er, 

And at her feet thy spirit lowly bow ; 

And rise to nobler deeds than murder's cunning blow. 

Go match thy cunning art 'gainst Bruin's might, 
Or rouse the panther from her nursling young, 
And check the maddened bison in his flight, 
Or list the rattling serpent's hissing tongue 
And feel thy blood, by chilling terror stung, 
Pause in each vein — then wildly leap anew 
As thoughts in their career do speed along — 
As humming bird that sips the flowery dew : 
Alas, as life itself, the weary wide world through. 



16 



SIERRA MABRE, 



Go, wandering idler, mingle thou with those, 
Or stir the hungry she wolf in her lair, 
Nor break the meek-eyed antelope's repose, 
And learn to mete the mercy thou wouldst share. 
Breathe to thy soul the pure, untainted air 
That wells around thee and within the beam 
Of summer's sun, so soft and sweetly fair, 
Let thy hopes brighten like a midnight dream, 
And life within thy breast spring crystal as her 
stream. 

I gaze along the east horizon's verge, 
Where full and round, within her sky, doth glow 
The star of day, that still her course would urge 
To higher steps along the arching bow. 
'Twas thus ye shone some weary years ago ; 
But when and where I need not here unfold — 
Suffice it that I gaze, through tears of woe, 
Again that moment's likeness to behold ; 
And few can guess my pain, and none may e'er be 
told. 



It were a long and weary tale for me, 
And trust to ask of me thou wilt forbear ; 
For longer still it e'en might seem to thee, 
Who in another's woe can feel no share. 
And if by chance that one forbidden tear 
Should blot this page, that's sad enough at best, 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 17 

Think no light sorrow but a grief sincere 
Stirs deep the chords within my aching breast, 
And years of ceaseless pain its constancy attest. 

For looking upon such at such, an hour, 
And such a place as this, betoken Fate 
Hath led me on and held me in her power, 
And here herself by me intrusive sate; 
JNor from the deep'ning shadow extricate 
Can I the present, future or the past, 
Of the dark way that bears me to the gate 
Where sad mortality shall view the last 
Of the immortal soul that onward still is cast. 

-But little this doth savor of my theme, 
And trust the fault, for once, thou wilt forgive. 
'Tis asking much, dear reader, but I deem 
That thou wilt grant it, since I pledge to strive 
To steer my Pegasus as on we drive 
Aloti£ the course we first essayed to fly. 
A few slight errors one may yet outlive, 
And win him true redemption, should he try, 
E'en though a few such still might mar uncon- 
sciously. 

Such is the code, at least, of our salvation 
As taught till modern times by Priest and Preacher, 
Whose reverened hearts were held by christian nation 
As moral guide, example, and its teacher. 



18 SIEBBA 21 AD RE, 

But then McClosky, Talmage too, and Beecher 
Have injured quite this trust traditional; 
And Beecher, Adams, Thomas and a Fletcher 
Are cast ashore on thought's new tidal swell, 
And from their holy rocks renounce their fears of 
Hell. 



Such creed hath charms for him of wayward life ; 
And many an earnest heart is soothed as well ; 
And superstition falters in the strife., 
And time shall mark the era when she fell. 
In ages yet even ignorance shall dwell 
On us and ours, as we upon the past: 
Though other creeds and follies then may swell, 
Pure wisdom too, her brightened beam shall cast, 
And light the unfettered mind o'er life's dark way 
at last. 

There is a moral, too, as it might seem, 

That half unhidden lurks behind the screen : 

And tho' 'tis not my song's intended theme, 

Yet to my sorrow and it's shame hath been 

Its fate, that this be woven in between 

The slender cords that vainly seek to bind 

Each varied thought and fancy in one scene. 

For 'tis a bitter task to keep the mind, 

However firm resolved, on things at first designed. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 19 

Tho' this thing of digression is a curse — 

A thing that all and at all times should shun, 

Yet even such unfinished is still worse — 

A double shame to him that e'er begun, 

And to a close I soon shall draw this one; 

Nor hope by such the folly to efface, 

And trust the reader's patience as I've done 

In times before, when my wild pen would trace 

Some comet of a thought,thro' Fancy's pathless space. 

The creed's weak moral this, if that a moral 
Within the heart or mind of man be found. 
The dews they ask for other's faded laurel 
Would be a welcome balm on all around ; 
And he who seems to be most saintly crown'd. 
Might feel its holy freshness least amiss; 
For sin of late so common doth abound, 
'Twere vain to think of man deserving bliss, 
Or, happier one in prayer than in a harlot's kiss. 

Such is the sad corruption of the times, 

But why complain ? it e'en were best for me ; 

For had a bygone age beheld these rhymes 

I had been doomed — eternal misery. 

But think thou not that I would rail at ye, 

Ye earnest few, but laud thy voice of praise; 

But vile deceit and bold hypocrisy. 

That stalk abroad in these degenerate days 

Would Satan's tower of sin in shameless ruin raze. 



20 SIEERA MAD RE, 

But we've descended and must rise again ; 
A night-hawk freak of summer evening's light; 
Aspire to other themes than vulgar men 
Where fancy's dreams may revel in delight, 
And higher mount yon grand majestic height 
That seems with kindred earth to bid adieu ; 
As if with heaven it vainly would unite. 
And, as you mount, oft lightly turn to view, 
What grandeur beams afresh ! how springs a world 
anew ! 

There is an awe-inspiring element 
That breathes itself unto the musing soul 
Of him who sits where heav'n and earth are blent, 
And feels the harmony of raptures roll 
In sweet profusion 'round him, fit to condole 
With the weary brain and grief-embosomed heart 
That from the haunts of madness here would stroll, 
And live, if but one hour — a thing apart 
From life's unceasing throng that whets affliction's 
dart. 

Behold within yon steep ascending rock 
The lone and desolate cedar madly clings 
As in despair its dwarfish fibres lock 
Hard in the scant and narrow openings ; 
While high aloft the leafy mantle swings 
As if to mock the humble twi^s below, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 21 

And thro' its rugged branches coldly sings 
The howling blast its wintry notes of woe ; 
Or, in the summer breeze swings gently to and fro. 

The mountain brook leaps boldly from the cliff — 

Expands, a cloud upon the passing breeze 

That weeps it forth in saltless tears, as if 

They flowed to soothe some giant miseries. 

Amid, the rainbows paint the dewy trees 

Or lean their gorgeous grandeur 'gainst the steep, 

With feeble arch aspire to cloudlet skies ; 

But doomed by fate these narrow bounds to keep 

Reflect their thousand tints and smiling sweetly weep. 

But turn again and high and higher mount 
This heaven piercing monument of earth, 
And bend thy gaze upon the bubbling fount 
That grants one only land a wat'ry girth. 
Twin Amazons of North, here was thy birth, 
Where many a change of time hath smiled or 

frowned. 
But then, as now, thy limpid wave sprang forth, 
And softly, faint, its babblings echoed round, 
And parting, bade adieu; to climes unequal bound. 

Whoever sat beside the purple brook, 
And in her wave beheld the silent moon, 
When leafy boughs no passing zephyr shook 
Or drowned the sadness of the cricket's tune, — 



22 SIEBRA MADBE, 

Beheld the first bright leaves of Autumn strewn 
In nature's sweetest loveliness around, 
Would wonder Burns had sung of Bonnie Doon, 
Or felt his musing bosom wildly bound 
Robed in the silent shades of raptures most pro- 
found. 

To sit and gaze upon the rippling stream 
That smoothly glides or leaps in wild delight, 
And list anon the night owl's distant scream, 
And feel the silent awfulness of night — 
To hear the trickling waters' murmuring flight, 
The tingling night sound softly ebb and flow 
As gleams the twinkling meteor on the sight, 
Or swells the bitter pangs of secret woe 
Which ye that have not known may never care to 
know. 

It wafts a welcome sadness to the soul 
From which it flees not, but would linger still — 
A serpent charm or heart's magnetic pole 
That dulls the pain and binds the wayward will. 
A chaos of the mind that memories till, 
And build an unconscious vacuum in the breast 
That mute expanding slumbers there, until 
The fragile cords are sundered that represt, 
And freely breaths the sigh, and leaves the soul at 
rest. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 23 

It brings the hour when melancholy sits 

Upon the brow and saddens all within ; 

When memory, on her thousand pinions, flits 

O'er weary years of unforgiven sin — 

O'er paths where joy and gayety hath been 

But swiftest carriers to a waste of woe, 

From whose bleak summit there is now but seen 

The lovely landscape of the long ago, 

Wrapt in the golden gleam of hope's ideal glow. 

The present is a mountain, on whose height 
Life's golden sun may gleam; but far behind 
Her huge form casts a shadow, dark as night, 
O'er the long pathway of the heart and mind. 
But far beyond, in one broad beam entwined, 
Without one tint, or shade of night or woe, 
By time and sweet forgetfulness refined, 
Rise the loved hills in yet still lovelier glow 
Than when in youthful hours we trod them long 
as;o. 

For life is but the planet of a clay, 
Linked with unnumbered thousands, yet alone. 
Born but to gleam, and fade, and pass away, 
With sunshine, clouds and tempests all her own. 
She has her hills and vales, which oft are grown 
Into mist-shrouded mountain or broad plain, 



24 SIERRA MAD RE, 

Whose barren sands glare hard beneath the frown 
Of her fierce heights and tempest's gathering train, 
Where fleet existence drags her ever lengthening- 
chain. 

She has her lakes, her fountains, and her streams ; 

Her broad, deep oceans and her boundless seas; 

Her brooding fancies and her waking dreams, 

To gild the desert of realities. 

She has her storms and calms, and balmy breeze — 

Her turbid torrents and her founts of joy — 

All flowing to a waste of miseries. 

She has her sun and ever changing sky, 

O'er which eternity seems sadly hovering nigh. 

For he who sits and ponders in himself 

Hath found no bounds for his creative thought: 

Can mould a planet system, or an elf, 

And link them with sage time e'er yet begot. 

He can behold the skies of noonday, fraught 

With darkening shades of evening's gloomy glow ; 

Existence with eternity inwrought — 

And melancholy's lengthening shadows throw, 

And life's uncertain sun beam sadly, faint and low. 

Here shall I hie me when the day is closed — 
My feeble task and weary wanderings done. 
When busy life to slumber is reposed, 






AND OTHER POEMS. 25 

And all but one last glimpse of day is gone — 
The last, the sweetest and the loveliest one, 
Where day and night in equal numbers blend; 
Ere the first hath vanished or the last begun — 
A neutral vail of elements to lend 
A solemn pause, where all mixed grandeur may 
expend. 

An air-inwoven space or vailed hall, 
Dividing light from darkness, as it were ; 
Where purest rays of each thro' either wall 
Commingle sweetly in the narrow sphere — 
Swift as the cloud-born shadow hovering near, 
Swept on the wings of gathering elements, 
The lovely prelude of the tempest drear, 
As thou to darkness and the sky's intense 
And glittering loveliness — star-canopied expanse. 

The hour of slumber's gone, nor yet returned ; 
Still would I dream, perchance a waking dream, 
As love's deep, smouldering fire hath quenchless 

burned 
Long after hope's vain spark hath ceased to beam ; 
As midnight wakes the borealis gleam 
Along the northern sky to shed her ray, 
And melt the shades of night, that hung supreme, 
Into a golden counterfeit of day, 
That like a meteor gleams — then vanishes away. 



26 SIEBBA MADRE, 

I gazed upon the modern Galilee 

And saw its richness in the beauteous night; 

The moon shone full upon the infant sea 

That danced and rippled in her silvery light, 

And, nestling 'neath the mountain's shadowy height, 

Its soft waves, laughing, playfully kissed the shore; 

The dim isles frowned, a speck upon the sight, 

As on the night's horizon I did pore 

And drank to the deep soul her raptures o'er and o'er. 

I saw the purling stream rush madly on 

As driven wildly to its destiny; 

The fountain's spotless waves forever gone, 

And sighed in vain o'er wasted purity: — 

Alas ! how like is nature unto thee — 

Like begets like and lures sweet truth astray ; 

Pollution breeds polluted company: — 

On desert sands the desert waters play 

And desert breezes bear the desert air away. 

Along the desert shores here man hath reared 
His habitation and the home of crime; 
The laws of God and conscience he hath dared 
And nursed lascivious passion to its prime. 
Alas! that I should sing thee in my rhyme, 
And blend such vice with nature's purer train, 
And bear the darkened shadow from its clime 
Where sweeter virtue may behold the stain 
And blush to find that such were mingled with the 
strain. 






AND OTHER POEMS. 27 

On yonder mount the false Isaiah stood, 
And hope revealed a kingdom and a crown; 
He saw it budding in the solitude 
Where various nature left her lingering frown. 
The savage scarce had claimed it for his own, 
Save in the thought that all to him w T as sent; 
Few were the charms for him that vainly shone ; 
Since lovlier smiles to fairer lands were lent, 
He basked him in the glare and breathed a sweet 
content. 

Here fled the host from persecution's rage, 

The hand of justice and the lips of scorn; — 

The martyrs of a holy pilgrimage, 

Thrice from their consecrated Eden torn. 

Sharp were the pangs within their bosoms' bourne — 

The ruined temples and their prophet slain — 

By all but fate and sullen faith forlorn, 

A refuge sought where spreads the dreary plain, 

Alas! in crimes anew and miseries again. 

The dreariest desert has some spot of green 
Where yet the weary eye and heart may rest, 
The wildest waste some lone and lovely scene 
To soothe the sorrows of the aching breast; — 
The sorriest wretch is yet e'en lightly blest 
Though bowed beneath misfortune's darkest frown — 
The vilest of some virtue is possessed — 
The callous heart some kindness yet can own, 



28 SIEEBA MABBE, 

And sad indeed the soul where fortune ne'er had 
shone. 

Lo! frugal care and industry are thine, 

But they can light thy harems, not thy soul, 

Thy temples to the stranger's eye may shine, 

And ye that reared may worship and extol ; 

The savage eye in wonder too may roll 

O'er thy great cities, but alas for thee, 

Thy glory is thy shame, if glory's goal 

In crimes and bold licensciousness can be, 

And Mountain Meadows dark and bloody tragedy. 

And thou, sweet, lovely woman, thou art here, 

The silent, suffering victim of disgust ; 

The all of life and happiness most dear — 

An isle of innocence in a sea of lust — 

A pearl in ocean — a diamond in the dust — 

A rose within the desert, or a star 

In the dark night of sorrow and distrust — 

A peaceful omen in the tide of war — 

The lone sweet ray of hope and promise from afar. 

On Sierra Madre's summit mutely stand — 

Nor ask what power this loveliness devised ; 

Gaze at the noonday sun ; on either hand 

Behold the savage — then the civilized. 

Fit bulwark this, unconscious nature raised, 

To shield her offspring 'gainst oppression's power ; 



AND OTHEB POEMS. 29 

Unknown to bow, by them the boon is prized — 
The rudely wrought, and yet unconquered tower, 
That sire to son bequeathed, imperishable dower. 

No long writ will or testament was theirs; 
No dying words the heritance conveyed ; 
No portions left to prompt impatient heirs 
To feign a grief, in tears too long delayed ; 
No costly robes dissembling grief arrayed, 
In studied lines, that many a heart belied, 
Shone forth in pomp, a funeral masquerade, 
Where woeful weeds the double task supplied 
To signal grief sincere and hypocrisy to hide. 

For there are those whom Death's grim, ghastly 

mein 
Awes not from sin's unmantled deeds of shame, 
Would bear the pall and yet rejoice within 
O'er others woe, that yields them wealth or fame, — 
Whose mind portrays no other end or aim 
Than cold, and callous, bitter selfishness. 
No spark of pride that kindles honor's flame 
Shines in the soul to gild one dark recess, 
Where truth forbears to gleam or virtue scorns to 

bless. 

But these are crimes beyond the untutored mind 
That happily sins in nature's bolder strain, 



30 SIEBEA MAD BE, 

Whose very crimes and follies unrefined 
Freeze not the blood as art's more polished stain; 
Whose whole rude savage mind would scarce con- 
tain 
The semblance of one virtue such as ours. 
For Virtues in a few pure hearts remain, 
Tho' Vice with all his thousand shadows lowers, 
And high to many a heart woe's bitter measure 
pours. 

For he hath looked no farther than his kind 
For aught of good or ill that Fate hath brought. 
His very creed hath taught him he had sinned 
To bow the knee in suppliance to aught. 
His mind conceives no reverential thought 
Beyond tradition's rude and varied tale ; 
No deed was crime that gained the end he sought — 
Yet just to friend or kindred, in the scale 
That savage conscience weighs — aye, treacherous 
and frail. 

The step of stealth, the wily ambuscade, 
The long-laid plans of double-dealt deceit — 
A friend's unwary confidence betrayed — 
Or foe deluded by a promise sweet — 
A neutral slain is questioned as a fete, 
Not as how wisely done, but as how well. 
In sooth, in him no foe shall rise to meet; 
No spy shall lurk, forbidden tales to tell. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 31 

Alas, and few shall know from whence the cause he 
fell. 

Look thou on him; but, freemen, scorn him not. 

The noblest star in freedom's lovely sky ! 

In freedom's lap, by freedom's sons begot, 

He guards the every walk of liberty — 

Not with a paltry hireling's coward eye, 

But nature's king, and freedom for his crown, 

And draws the sword to conquer or to die ; 

And strike for rights and liberties his own, 

And sheathes it, but in blood, till all is lost or won. 

And ye who war for kings would win but graves 
To coffin thee and priceless liberty; 
Would forge the chains that bind you more as slaves, 
And sound the doleful death-knell of the free ; 
Would rear the pile whereon to bend thy knee, 
And feel the weight of power thy hands can give, 
And pay the homage that were due to thee. 
Were homage due to hands that boldly strive, 
That tyrants may oppress and pompous lust may 
thrive. 

He looks upon his loved and lonely land 

And sees the future with a fiery eye ; 

Beholds him bear the torch and glittering brand, 

And ever from the field of victory. 

He sees the foe before him lifeless lie, 



32 SIERRA MADRE, 

Or, helpless bound, for hopeless mercy sue ; 
Depicts with joy the death that captives die — 
The thousand pangs that thousand times renew 
Ere life to the lone breast shall bid a last adieu. 

He dreams but of the land his fathers gave, 
When night enfolds him in her robe of sleep ; 
He dreams of that sweet land — his father's grave — 
ITor feels the unconscious tears that burning weep ; 
He knows not that his arms the night winds sweep 
As grappling fiercely with a deadly foe ; 
He knows not that the furrows, dark and deep, 
The mingled throes of rage, despair and woe, 
O'er his dark, dusky brow alternate come and go. 

He knows the charms of childhood's lovelier hour 
And manhood's ties, that strengthen year by year ; 
He sees the distant shades of fortune lower 
And feels the every bond of life more dear. 
'Tis not the thought-awakened pulse of fear, 
For such was childhood taught — aye, learned — to 

scorn ; 
In slumber's arms alone he sheds the tear, 
Tho' grief within his swelling breast is worn 
And every tender cord that touch his heart be 

torn. 

His tent is pitched beside his native stream. 
As from his savage wanderings he returns 



AND OTHER POEMS. 33 

He ponders on the future, and the beam 
Of memory in his dusky bosom burns. 
The cares that fortune heaps he madly spurns, 
And in a moment lives long years again. 
To dream of j^outh alone he sadly yearns; 
In grief itself forgets e'en sorrow's pain 

That thrilled his latest pulse and flowed thro' every 
vein. 

He sees his transient village reared around, 

And marks no changes for the lapse of years; 

The same dark hills and forests still surround, 

And thro' her walks the wonted group appears; — 

The mother toils amid unaltered cares 

And childhood's mirth and frolics still the same, 

Tho' some are gone, for each another bears 

The task of life, unfinished as it came, 

That flows with ceaseless time — as time without an 
aim. 

He hears the wolfs long howl re-echo far — 
The desert's lonely curfew-knell of night; 
The panther's scream awake the darkening air 
And rouse his savage soul to wild delight; 
His eye would trace the night hawk in her flight 
As twilight bore on her wings along — 
And still he gazed, tho' darkness dimmed his sight, 
And lived one hour of fancj^'s life among 
The glittering stars that seemed companions of the 
song. 



34 SIERRA MADBE, 

Behold the savage chieftain! round him crouch 
A moslem group with stern but reverned awe, 
And silence breathes o'er all, as from the pouch 
Fit hands essay the council pipe to draw. 
The brand hath lit, and solemn each and a' 
Hath homage done tradition's sacred right. 
No bailiff wields, no judge expounds a law 
Imbued with cunning of a christian trite ; 
For honor, justice reign and freedom claims her right. 

He hears the strain of oratory swell, 

And starts to know how sweet that voice hath grown; 

And other voices charm the ear as well, 

And wing the night air with their silvery tone — 

He hears each voice distinctly and alone. 

For such the pride that sways the savage breast 

To list alike to prophet or to drone, 

And feel the most despised an honored guest, 

Moved aye and moved alone by dignity's behest. 

He hears the hoarse, dull timbrel sound aloud, 
The wonted signal of the savage dance, 
And, hurrying on, the young, the gay, the proud, 
Feed evening's twilight with their mellow glance. 
Who sees them here would doubt how well the lance 
And sword the mirth of revelries could supplant ; 
Two far extremes one heart could thus entrance, 
And from the warpath turn thus jubilant; 
And to the w T ild, wild winds these wilder numbers 
chant: 



AND OTHEB POEMS, 85 

Our fathers were braves, 

Our mothers were free ; 
We'll never be slaves 

While remembering thee. 

The blood they did cherish 

Still flows in our veins, 
Tho' with us it may perish — 

Yet never in chains. 

Our foes we shall conquer 

Whereever w r e meet; 
Our bows shall be stronger, 

Our arrows more fleet. 

Tho' their numbers may vanquish 

The best of our band, 
Behold they the anguish 

That swells in their land, 

The scalps of the pale face 

Shall build our tepee; 
We'll sing of the hale race 

And dance in our glee. 

Their bones they shall whiten 
'Round the prairie fowls' nest, 

And their red blood shall brighten 
The joys in our breast. 



36 SIEBBA MAD RE, 

Their children's vain weeping 

Sound sweeter afar 
Than music, while sleeping. 

Or marshalled for war. 

The wail of their kindred 
Shall burden the wind, 

And their hopes shall be cindered 
As the captives we bind. 

The fond kiss at parting, 
Tho' lightly was prest, 

Shall dwell on the heart string — 
The last and the best. 

Who asks that he slake 

Not the thirst of the sword, 

Shall reap at the stake 
Fear's juster reward. 

Our weakest cry shame 

To his shrieks and his cries 

That mix with the flame 
As it leaps to the skies. 

Then leap to the strain 
Of the music that swells, 

And its echo again 
As still softer it wells ; 



AND OTHER POEMS. 37 

And sound the loud war-whoop, 

The key-note of life, 
The pride of the war troop 

And soul of the strife. 

Rejoice, as we hail 

The proud warrior's return, 
Tho ? it mix with the wail 

Of the luckless that mourn. 

That mourn for the few 

That were slain on the field, 

Whose hearts never knew 
To abandon or yield. 

But the tears that are shed 

By the lovely for those, 
Rob death of her dread 

And gives hate for our foes. 

For the tears of a maid 

In her lover-lorn woe 
Are more keen than the blade 

In the hand of the foe. 

Tho' a maid in her glee 

Is the sunshine of earth, 
In her weeping we see 

All her beauty and worth. 



38 SIERRA 3IADRE, 

'Tis the drear wintry silence 

Gives summer her cheer, 
And the yoke of harsh tyrants 

Makes liberty dear. 

And this land hath forgotten — 

This land of the brave, — 
When tyrant hath trodden — 

But trod to his grave. 

Then garland the brow 

Of the chieftain with flowers, 

From the loveliest that grow 
On our loveliest bowers; 

And our virgins shall gather 

The roses' bright bloom, 
And the eagle's soft feather 

Shall mix in the plume. 

Then weep o'er the graves 
That have made us the free — 

We'll never be slaves 

While we reverence thee. 

Ye who would ask from whence such numbers flow, 
Go thou to them, nor pause to question here. 
That such it was and is, is all I know, 
And many worse have soothed a softer car. 
lie who hath writ or moulded quaint and queer 



AND OTHER POEMS. 39 

Such broken thoughts, it was a thing apart; 

Ambition's hope in subtle song to sear 

The honeyed venom of full many a heart — 

To rouse each latent pulse and poison hatred's dart. 

'Twas but a lyric fancy thus to build 
The many hopes and hatreds into one; 
The smold'ring dreams of vengeance thus to gild 
And rouse the embers to a flame unknown ; 
To touch her chords and find her every tone 
Awakes the mute, unconscious echo there, 
Where zeal apace with sullen time hath grown — 
The long pent founts redoubling waves appear 
And ./Etna's bursting flames her slumbering powers 
declare. 

'Tis not for bard or minstrel to create, 
Who are but noblest architects of thought; 
For nature, in herself inanimate, 
Folds all that may be or that time hath taught, 
And in her broad, deep bosom there is wrought 
Yet undiscovered truths and charms, which shall 
Be food for ages yet long unbegot; 
And Time himself shall cease unknowing all 
And worlds of truths unborn shall sink 'neath chaos 
pall. 

Pursue the sculptor's hand — thou wilt but find 
Some vain attempt at nature's lovely forms; 



40 



SIEBBA MAD BE, 



The artist's hope is but to leave behind 

One faultless effort of her countless charms. 

Trace where thou wilt, the same deep spirit warms 

Thro' every pulse that sways ambition's breast — 

To clothe in thought or skill the silent germs 

That in oblivion's hidden bosom rest, 

Or gild with words anew some rapture long expressed. 

Such is the strain, and be it as it may 

'Tis all that fact-born fancy can allow; 

And we have lingered long upon the way 

Thus to behold nor tire with, when nor how. 

It is enough my muse hath slept, and thou, 

Who still would boast a patience to endure, 

Whose faithful eye hath traced us on, shalt now 

Be borne along where other scenes allure, 

And 'round those paths anew thy hungry vision pour. 

Here sprang the Magic City of the plains, 
Like Anchialus and Tarsus, in a day, 
That rose to gild a monarch's sterile reign 
And heap the monument of its own decay. 
Forbid that I would sing thee such as they — 
The offspring of unbridled vanity, 
Reared by the slaves that knew but to obey, 
And even in chains made others bend the knee, 
That else had burst the bonds and christened them 
the free. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 41 

Not thus of thee, proud city, o'er whose spires 
The starry flag of freedom is unfurled — 
That glorious banner that our patriot sires 
Proclaimed the emblem of an infant world. 
Tho' tyrant's chains and battle's smoke have curled 
Around thee and the dauntless breasts that bore ; — 
From this fair land the fetters long are hurled 
To awe the heart and bind the limb no more, 
While free her eagle soars from ocean's shore to 
shore. 

And view ye here where dauntless enterprise 
And bold invention force a narrow way; 
The vain predictions of a world despise, 
Nor nature's wilds can soften or dismay ; 
Unscathed by scorn and fear despising, they 
Unflinching: launch on fortune's surging sea, 
Where winds and waves too often do betray 
The staunchest bark, whose living wreck must be 
Cast on her barren shores in mad despondency. 

And art and science here have led their train 
And reared their halls in this stupendous wild. 
O'er nature's palace, half usurping, reign 
And grasp the just inheritance of her child 
Who warred that still these raptures, undefiled, 
Might pass from them the heritage they came, 
And sighed in vain when stranger lips reviled 



42 SIERRA MADRE, 

And stranger hands in numbers sought to claim, 
And bathed the hills in bloodand triumphed in their 
shame. 

Here winds afar the iron path, where first 
The iron horse, unbridled, bore away. 
Thro' the dark veil of slumbering ages burst — 
The morning star of empire's golden day. 
Afar she cast the gleaming of her ray 
And woke the trembling wild beast from his lair, 
And wilder men, with awe-imbued dismay, 
Beheld the ill-omened monster from afar 
To walk the boundless waste and cleave the startled 
air. 

Here groaned the weary beast beneath his weight, 
Ere yet proud commerce walked the silent hills 
And planted far the pregnant seeds of state, 
Or sank where death's cold hand forever stills ; 
And hearts o'er-burdened with misfortunes ills 
Strove here, and wept and conquered, tho' they fell. 
Know thou, in sooth, it is not all that kills 
That can be said to conquer, for as well 
The spirit lives in death as in its mortal cell. 

And Faith and Mammon lured, ill-guiding stars, 
To tempt the heart of longing and of lust, 
As srlorv leads her thousands on to wars 
And blends the luckless with their kindred dust. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 43 

Alas ! how sad a thing it is to trust 
Hope's distant ray or Fortune's tickle dream ! 
E'en life itself is to itself unjust, 
And lurks a shade to darken every gleam, 
And swiftest night succeeds her loveliest lingering 
beam. 

Behold the pictured sands of other times ! — 

The pilgrim's dread and pain of pioneers, 

Where flourished naught save grief and savage 

crimes 
And sprang no fountain but the fount of tears. 
O'er thee, unhappy land, tradition rears 
The very arch of monumental awe — 
Of men who smiled at death's ignoble fears — 
Would mould, and judge, and execute a law, 
Nor from one statute code the simplest line would 

draw. 

And weeping Kansas, such, alas ! was thine, 

And God forbid that e'er again shall be 

Such fated land where Murder heaps her shrine 

And bathes it with the blood of liberty. 

Here Rapine, Vengeance, Lust, ungodly three, 

Strove hand in hand, and Mercy was denied, 

And linked thy name with death and misery 

Till thousands o'er the hapless ruin sighed, 

And pity spread her wings and circled far and wide. 



44 SI EBB A MAD BE, 

But these are gone ; unfaltering time reveals 
What slept within the bosom of this land. 
Along her hills the God of Plenty steals 
And heaps her granaries with a lavish hand ; 
Where frowned a desert, gardens now expand, 
And order reigns where anarchy prevailed. 
And where the chieftain led his savage band 
And the wild wolf to midnight echoes wailed, 
Bright cities long have gleamed and blooming fields 
regaled. 

The shepherd, idly whistling on the hill, 
Tells how remote that danger here must be; 
The restless nomad roams his herds at will 
And thus declares a blest security; 
His wandering thousands, roaming wild and free, 
Blend with the wild ox here, of nature's own, 
And he who wanders o'er these plains may see 
The shaggy bison, half domestic grown, 
And slaughtered in the pen or bourne to those 
unknown. 

The sun hath set, and night's unfaltering shades 
Along these silent walks of nature creep. 
The mellow sky of evening slowly fades, 
And thro' her vail the dim stars faintly peep. 
The day hath fled, the chill winds gently sweep, 
With whispering echoes in the voiceless night; 



AND OTHER POEMS, 45 

The dewy tears of Summer softly weep; 

The full round moon hangs, beautiful and white, 

Within her sky and pours on all her silvery light. 

But we are done, it is enough for now ; 
Where we may rest it suits not here to name ; 
Whence we have come, or where, we now may go, 
Or how we here have wandered, tis the same; 
And thou, sad reader, thou as loth to blame 
Or question where as we may be, to tell, 
In after days w r e may redeem the shame — 
If shame it be such numbers thus to swell, 
And to a sorrowing ear to pour a glad farewell. 

The huge hills clotse around me. One by one 
They fade aw r ay like memories of the past; 
And in the gathering shadows, grey and dun, 
They don the veil of mystery at last; 
Save where the towering heights their spectres cast 
In dark, dull outlines on the sky of night, 
Like landmarks of remembrance. And thou hast 
Beheld their sad array to the mind's sight, 
As o'er the long, long way it backward turns its 
flight. 



cs^. 




THE OCEAN OF LIFE. 



Along her rough and rugged shores 
The sea of life unceasing roars, 
As onward still her breakers lash 
And 'gainst the cliff or cavern dash, 
While cold and white, the foamy spray, 
Glares on each billow of the bay ; 
Or wreathing clings, with arching mock, 
Along the sands or frowning rock 
And marks how high her waters flow — 
How fierce her angry tempests blow — 
And many a bark along the beach 
Of mad disaster sadly teach, 
While wrapt in robes of cold despair 
The hearts they bore are weeping there 
Amid the wreck of ruined hopes, 
Where sorrow with misfortune copes. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 47 

Methinks her waves are built of tears, 

And winds are but the sighs of years 

Mixed with those deep and heavy groans 

That e'en might move the chilly stones ; 

And even now the woeful sound, 

As of some mourners gathering round, 

Grows on the wind like distant strains 

Of thunder dying on the plains, 

And thrills the blood thro 3 every vein, — 

Poetic messenger of pain. 

How swift the barks of joy and woe, 
And relics of the long ago 
Are swept like bubbles ever on, 
As little missed, as little known ; 
Dashed on the rocks misfortune rears 
For him whom fate unhappily steers; 
And many a huge and gilded sail 
In fragments stream the wintry gale. 
Their gleam of hope and worth is fled, 
And left, that lustre of the dead 
To sadden all that yet remains 
And whet misfortunes keenest pains, 
While cast along this luckless shore 
To tempt the lovlier deep no more. 

There is ajoy for him who craves, 
There is a dread for him who braves 



48 SIERRA MAD RE. 

The fury of uncertain waves — 

Who plows alone the isleless deep 

Where storms may rage and tempests sweep ; 

Tho' calms may lull her troubled breast 

'Tis but a mock of peaceful rest. 

Another day — an hour — may view 

Her every fear return anew. 

Tho' Hope and Joy companions sail 
In fortunes wildly shifting gale, 
Yet Sorrow spreads her pinions there 
And glides from Misery to Despair. 
But oh, how swift the wings she lends! 
How sweetly curves — how gently bends 
The lofty sails that fearless ride 
The watery mountains of the tide. 
The heart e'en woos the doubtful way, 
And winds that brook nor bear delay 
And tempt the gauntlet of the grave 
Ere loiter on the pulseless wave. 
For danger has for some a charm 
That rest and peace could never warm ; 
And death no dread if Horv's star 
Allures them on to do and dare. 
For few the pangs that rend the breast 
And bear the »oul eternal rest 
Of those whom fate foresake at last 
And on her icy bosom cast. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 49 

Her broken waves are coursing high 

Beneath an ever-changing sky 

That smiles in sunshine's golden light, 

Or wears the frown of darkest night, 

Or lowering dark with tempests dread, 

The rays of melancholy shed, 

And give e'en death a cast of gloom 

And add new pangs to sorrow's doom. 

Yet such the hope — the dreamy prize — 

That thousands weep to realize ; 

A boon that few, in sooth, could bear, 

Alas! and less could nobly share. 

And I have viewed her dreary shore — 
Alas! could I but view no more — 
And heard her thousands groan and sigh, 
Perchance, and happier still than I ; 
Have wept me sore at other's grief 
And thus my own found small relief. 
There was a solace yet for me — 
To walk with Love and Poesy, 
For hand in hand they wander here, 
Twin offspring of another sphere. 
With vision turned to that far sky 
That glows with noonday's brilliancy; 
As to the dungeon darkened sight, 
Gleams evening's cool and shaded light ; 
And never noon, in all her power, 



50 SI EBB A MAD BE, 

Hath beamed in freedom's lovlier hour 
As thro' the iron lattice steal 
The faded rays they half conceal ; 
For sweet the balm again supplied 
From fountains once by fate denied. 

The auburn locks unheeded flow 
Around each brow and bust of snow 
Without one tint of lillie gone 
That on those cheeks and bosoms shone ; 
And youth still lurks in every charm 
And keeps those spotless bosoms warm. 
There is a lustre in those eyes — 
The very dream of paradise ; 
A sweet and gentle sadness too, 
As soft and bright as Summer's dew, 
That seeks no solace from without 
Nor sheds one ray of gloom about ; 
A hidden light beneath each brow 
Like crystals of December snow. 
And he who once could feel their fire 
And know the pulse their rays inspire, 
Could ne'er forget or cease to turn 
The heart to whence such lustres burn. 

Their mantles gleam like silken gold 
And stream in loose, but certain fold, 
And burden light the wintry breeze 



AND OTHER POEMS. 51 

That sweeps unhushed these broken seas. 
Along the dewy rocks they stand, 
And gently lift the snowy hand 
As if to guide or hold aright 
The wanderings of the weary sight 
That lead afar the unfettered mind 
That follows on, and swift behind, 
Like shadows of a drifting cloud 
Or thunder's echo, long and loud. 

Alas! her broken surf will heave; 
Alas ! and thousands still must grieve 
As bourne along where none may know, 
But ever on the path of woe; 
And some are there, nor helm nor oar 
To guide them from the rocky shore, 
And thus bereft, must learn to dare 
Misfortunes never known to spare. 

There is a chaos spread beyond 

The narrow shore and dreary strand, 

And all we seek to see or know 

Must cease at whence yon waters flow. 

Tho' many tempt, but few as yet 

Have passed her bounds without regret — 

Without one hope to e'er return 

And none to point to whence is bourne. 



52 SIEBBA MAD BE, 

How dreary, chill, and damp, and dark 
Are the dull, misty bounds that mark 
Where the imprisoned soul is free — 
The last and all of misery. 
And won, if won at all the prize — 
A desert or a paradise. 



I^fcn 



TO A THUNDER SHOWER. 



The Summer's Sun hung sweet and low 
Within the west, descending slow. 
And seemed to pause above the hill 
As if in vain to linger still ; 
Nor bathed in the accustomed blaze 
But steeped in evening's dismal haze, 
Till darkly glared the round red mass 
As rising mists did thicker pass, 
At first obscure, then lost at last 
By infant shades of night o'ercast 
That shed her gloom and thribly more 
Along the hills and cradled shore. 
The drooping bough no zephyr shook, 
Nor bore the murmur of the brook, 
But deathly silence, dark and drear, 
Seemed to have spread her mantle there. 



54 SIERBA MADRE, 

The lark hath fled her wonted skies, 

Nor high the dauntless eagle flies, 

Nor e'en the robin longer flits, 

But 'neath the drooping yew-bough sits 

And twitters low and sweetly sad, 

In strains that mirth and joy forbad. 

For melancholy has a tone 

Of lovely sweetness, all its own, 

Blending at once the every key 

That swells from mirth to misery. 

The sluggish brutes, tho' frisking free, 
Seem filled with dread anxiety; 
And hurrying on, or loitering slow, 
Are murmuring sadly as they go — 
As taught by some instinctive spell 
To know what elements can tell : — 
To feel the fears forbodings teach, 
And know their terrors ere they reach. 

The cock hath smoothed each ruffled plume 
And screamed defiance at her gloom, 
Whose clarion tones, with wonted shrill, 
Scarce echo on the neighboring hill ; 
And fitly wing the mocking bay, 
The watch dog idly howls away, 
As bourne from some far-distant plain 
On wafting winds that wooed the strain. 



AKD OTHER POEMS. 55 

Bat hark! there is a thunder peal, 
The very thought and sense doth reel, 
Of him who shrinks beneath the jar 
Of darkening elements at war. 
And loud and long the echo sent 
As skies were torn, and worlds were rent, 
And lightning's streak, with vivid lines, 
The darkening gloom, as day declines, 
Like silver threads, reflecting bright, 
Along the curtain of the night — 
The very arch, and golden bow 
That spans sublimity below. 



The heavy drops come one by one 
Like distant battle just begun, 

With echoes dull and dread. 
And fast and faster still they grow 
Till verged in one unceasing flow, 

Like earthquake's awful tread. 
The dying thunder leaps anew ; 
The torrent pours, redoubling too, 
And lightning's blaze along the sky 
Like hope-rekindled memory. 
The howling winds relentless sweep, 
As wandering o'er the purple deep 
Where broken cliffs and island caves 
Re-echo far the dreary waves. 



56 SIERRA MADRE, 

There is a pause — the winds are still — 
And louder swells the murmuring rill, 
And o'er the landscape, far and wide, 
In echo streams each newborn tide, - 
As trickling down the gentle steep 
O'er long untrodden paths they leap. 

The heavy clouds are burst away — 
The thousand stars, with twinkling ray, 
Shine forth anew as farther fly 
The broken clouds along the sky. 
How doubly bright they seem to glow, 
And thicker in the heavens grow 
As if they built the very sky 
Of their own lovely brilliancy. 

The storm is hushed, the night is clear, 
The cricket wakes the silent air; 
Along the marsh the frog hath broke 
Anew with his accustomed croak, 
And morn, as loved, shall break again, 
As Eden knew without a stain, 
Ere man had lured the serpent there 
Which then had linked him with despair. 



EPISTLE TO 
MISS A AGNES S- 



As "distance lends enchantment to the viewS' 
E'en bonds of friendship may be dearer too. 

In evening's cool and balmy shade 
I sit me here— pursue my trade. 
Pursue my trade— 'tis but to rhyme— 
Nor deem it fault nor call it crime. 
A trade that kindly, Nature gave 
To bless or curse her humble slave, 
For whiling weary hours away, 
That gather dark from day to day 
And clothe the heart in robes of grief, 
Had I not known this sweet relief. 

Fair Friend, I take this privilege; 

It marks no vow — fulfills no pledge — 

Yet disregards no word or look 



r>8 SIEEBA MAI) RE, 

That I should deem to be rebuke. 
If such it be, condemn the act, 
And with the actor be exact ; 
Accept no pleadings or excuse 
Isor grant nor treaty nor a truce. 

Fair friend,- — this may seem dull and cold, 
Or thou mayest call it frank and bold, 
Since time may swerve the truest soul 
And conscience change its nurtured goal. 
Forbear the frown if I missguess, 
For I would scorn to think the less, 
Nor will attempt to call thee more 
And be familiar as before. 
So prone, alas ! are we to change, 
Familiar greetings echo strange, 
If time or distance rolls between 
And pen presume to pierce the screen. 

Permit me though, to sing my lay 
And call thee friend this single day, 
Tf but to-morrow thou wouldst scorn 
What thy fond smiles would once adorn. 
A T or would I venture to offend 
The nobler feelings of a friend — 
A friend that is or once hath been, 
And hold thee still, nor think it sin. 
But yet how oft a few short days 



AND OTHER POEMS, 59 

Must chill the warmth of friendship's rays 
And leave those hearts, once light and free, 
In drear} 7 , dark despondency; 
Perhaps e'en worse with jealous tongues 
To paint designs or picture wrongs, 
Which this, or that, or t'other word 
Hath slyly brooked or left inferred, 
And points the heart that lingers there 
But future woe and dark despair. 
How shrinks the heart, how melt the ties, 
And armed revenge and hatred rise, 
And steel the heart to war with foes 
Which blighted friendship only knows, 
And distance lends to keener knife 
Than steel can offer in the strife. 

And Friendship, oh, how light thy name ! 
Thy soul hath fled, and naught but fame 
Of vanished days and deeds remain 
To gild or screen the lingering stain 
That mars the links, by virtue wove, 
From garlands plucked by Truth and Love, 
The skillful hands that tuned thy lays, 
And hearts that breathed thy notes of praise, 
The flames that on thy altars burned, 
And the fond hearts that thither turned, 
With thee alike are past and gone, 
And e'en their very mimes have flown ; 



60 SIEEBA MADBE, 

The echo of their fame has died — 
Their soul is fled and past their pride. 

But why prolong the dreary page — 
Too dull for youth, too weak for age — 
And dwell on things that yet may be, 
Or might have been, oh, vanity ! 
To spread weak fancy's quivering sail 
In folly's wild and welcome gale, 
And glide on dreams, through airy seas, 
In shades of possibilities. 

'Twas just one year ago to-day 

That Fortune pointed me the way, 

And bade me that bleak way pursue ; 

Nor guessed I, or conjecture drew 

About the what, the where, or why 

That I was thither forced to fly. 

I wept not for a foe or friend, 

Nor for my past or future end, 

Nor for the land or home I left, 

Nor of a hope or joy bereft; 

Nor sighed nor mourned for adverse skies, 

Nor hoped to gain a paradise, 

But never thought this hour to see 

That robes the heart in misery. 

No friend had I to claim a tear 

Though there were some perhaps, sincere, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 61 

Who smiled not in their bosom's core 

When the last cold adieu was o'er; 

While others had as little cares 

For me as I for them and theirs. 

If friend I had he stood aloof, 

Or foe — forbore a deed of proof 

And breathed alike the last adieu 

That welcomed me from home and you. 

And there were some, whose very name 

And cause I will not stoop to blame, 

Who watched me with a jealous eye 

And knew, yet blushed to own, the why ; 

Who traced no outward vice or fault 

That well would justify assault, 

And even owned, with looks of truth, 

I was an honest, clever youth. 

But even then within their breast 

The venom scarce was half suppressed, 

And only slumbered in disguise 

To wake when other thoughts should rise, 

And o'er their hopes a shadow cast 

That told the future by the past. 

But why essay thus to condemn, 

Or name or trace a fault to them? 

For 'tis not well that erring man 

His fellow-creatures' faults should scan; 

Yet such the fault, nor even I 

A kindred frailty will deny, 



62 SIERRA MAD RE, 

When purer heart and fairer form 

Have sinned the same nor thought it harm. 

How cold the thought — how dark the hour — 

That o'er the pensive vision lower! 

The faded rajs of pleasure's beams — 

The long-lost hope, the blighted dreams — 

The fancied bliss of fortune's smile 

That youthful hopes embrace awhile; 

And what to life is worse than these, 

The frown of cold realities; 

The jealous foes — the faithless friends — 

That only smile when selfish ends 

Essay to move the tickle heart ; 

And that lone smile is but in art. 

And who hath turned to view the past 
Where fortune's varied die is cast, 
And there beheld, without a dart 
Of sadness thrill the brooding heart, 
The winding path that youth pursued 
With folly's fragments wildly strewed ; 
The careless word — the thoughtless deed 
That few may hear and less may heed, 
'Till idle tongues, that long for tame, 
Nor know nor court no higher aim, 
Have turned and tossed them o'er and o'er — 
Revived each fault and sought no more: 



AND OTHER POEMS. 63 

And if one virtue sought to flow 
They knew it not nor cared to know — 
Cast it in cold oblivion's shade 
And smiled to see its lustre fade; 
Pelt the sole hope of life attained 
And self-unquestioned glory gained. 

But fare-thee-well ! perhaps no more 
Thou'lt trace these idle pages o'er, 
And soon forget, and little care, 
If vice or virtue mingle there. 
Dub them the scribblings of a youth — 
And such, I ween, they are in sooth — 
The idle fragments of the mind, 
To thee as chaff to Autumn's wind — 
Unheeded bourne and playfully tossed, 
Nor know, nor care what moment lost; 
And if in thee it wake one thought, 
'Twill die as soon and be forgot; 
Thou'lt coldly turn to worthier themes, 
Nor let this mar thy lightest dreams. 
Toss it in fragments to the breeze 
And happily smile at the release. 
But fare-thee-well ! the spell is o'er, 
And thou mayest sigh that not before: 
Perhaps no more thou'lt hear from me 
While tossed on life's uncertain sea. 
Life's bark is frail and storms may blow 



64 SIEBBA MADBE, 

And blight our hopes and lay them low, 
So thou canst feed this to the flame — 
Forget me and ray very name. 

I will not say I love thee. 

For that were weak and vain, 
Since vows of others move thee 

'Twoukl give thy bosom pain. 

And yet how sweeter, dearer, 
Are friendship's golden ties, 

To know that never nearer 
Can rest the sacred prize 

Than love, with all its sweetness, 

Its sorrows and its pains, 
Its pleasures and their fleetness, 
Its brightness and its stains. 



^:ii^a s ^s^^s^^^jv«^- 



EPISTLE TO A. E- 



Dear Brother : 

Weeks and months and years 
Have rolled away, and Time but steers 
For me his bark of silent grief, 
Xor ports nor flies to grant relief. 
It is that cold and ceaseless pain 
That blights the heart and racks the brain, 
Yet grants to live through weary toil 
From which the heart can ne'er recoil ; — • 
A weight that hangs as dull and dread 
As memories of the cherished dead. 
The dead that once was near and dear 
To some lone heart left weeping here. 
For what art thou but dead to me, 



m SI EBB A MAD BE. 

Save in the faint reality ; 

Save that the hopes of future years 

Arise and quench the starting tears. 

And hope, alas! the meteor spark 

That flashes in the midnight dark, 

And lures the wanderer from his way. 

On wilds and deserts left to stray. 

Aye, what art thou but dead to me — 

I only weep to think of thee : 

Tis in a sad and silent tone 

That lives within the heart alone, 

And none mav know, and few may o;uess 

The subject of its bitterness. 

The heavy hours pass drearily. 

For when I turn to gaze, I see 

That friend in childhood — Brother Dear, 

To close the heart and turn the ear, 

What high within this heart must swell — 

I weep to think I cannot tell; 

'Tis of a sad and shadowy hue 

That speaks of sorrows deep and true — 

Of sorrows ne'er to be avenged, 

A brother wronged, a heart estranged. 

The alien friends may love and part, 
With but one wrench to wound the heart. 
And that sad wrench, though wide and deep 
May quickly heal and scarcely weep 



AND OTHER POEMS. 67 

With flowing tears or heaving sighs, 
The sardness of their miseries. 
But bid the inconstant one adieu 
And seeks a heart more soft and true, 
Where it may pour its aching grief, 
And from its sorrow find relief. 

A brother's love is deeper far 

Than all the roots of petty war; 

It clasps the heart and binds the soul 

And clings through life — the part — the whole. 

For faint relief the heart may fly 

To other land, to other sky 

And hope that charms might there dispel 

The deathly gloom — the living hell. 

Alas! Alas! he there but finds 

The pain he fled but colder binds 

Still closer twines and nearer clings 

And deeper gnaws and harder wrings ; — 

Whate'er he hopes, where'er he turns 

That grief unchanged still madly burns. 

And canst thou from thy brother turn — 
Thy sister mock — thy mother spurn — 
That mother near and dear to all? 
Or are such thoughts too weak and small 
To dwell but long enough with thee, 
To ask thyself or answer me? 



68 SI EBB A MAD BE, 

That mother on whose throbbing breast 
We oft have been together prest, 
And gathered life and vigor there, 
That made us men or what we are ; 
Around whom we have oft-times played 
And jealous watched each favor paid. 
And envious of each other's skill 
We sought to please and struggled still; 
Left the small task at night undone 
But to return with morning's sun. 
To struggle through the livelong day 
And find it still unfinished lav. 



That mother then to us how dear ! 
She gently calmed each rising fear 
That stole upon our troubled breast, 
And grief and sorrow was represt. 
She asked of naught from passion's store. 
She chid our sins and sought no more ; 
She watched our steps as life advanced 
And sighed as manhood's steps enhanced. 
How slow and heavy drag the days ! 
How dark and chill the dismal rays 
That lead us on through bleak suspense. 
That heaviest, worst of punishments 
And guide us still to find — who knows 
If it be pain or calm repose ? 
To know the toils — the hopes of years 



AND (THEE POEMS. 69 

Must end in joy or sorrow's tears. 
Must yet be lost in grief and shame 
Or honor gild the sacred name. 

One only solace calms her breast 
And vainly soothes it into rest, 
And that, she nobly did the best; 
Resigns to God — to fate the rest. 
And what are angels more than she 
Save in their immortality. 

And thou dost love a heart, and fair 
The form that wraps it gently there: — 
May heaven bless and fortune smile 
While life remains, nor woe beguile 
One happy hour that shines on thee 
And thine — a sister but to me. 
And to the vow may she be true, 
Thou lovest her and I love her too 
Ev'n as a sister, never less 
Whilst thy lot she deigns to bless. 

But fare thee well — a long good bye 
"I speak — I trace it with a sigh.'* 
For even now comes gath'ring fast 
The pains, the pleasures of the past 
Which bound methought the lasting tics 
That linked our mutual sympathies. 
Alas! I fear 'twas but a dream — 



70 SIERRA MADRE, 

The sparkling raj 7 of evening's beam 
That lies along the placid west 
When Summer's Sun hath sunk to rest. 
And clothes each light and lingering cloud 
Within her gold reflecting shroud. 

The weary wanderer, laid to rest, 
By unremitting toil oppressed, 
Arising now, would laugh to gaze 
Upon the bright and smiling rays 
And picture the angelic clay 
That soon must burst the gloom away, 
And thoughtless wait for brighter beams 
To break away the lingering dreams. 

Alas, for me that lingers there • 
Alas, for me that hoped to share 
The light, the comfort of thy smile 
And claim thy friendship for awhile. 

Alas ! alas ! I know too late 
But can not — will not stoop to hate. 
Life's weary way I still pursue 
And trust no more, but cherish you. 

If these few lines thy heart should move 
To cold respect or warmer love, 
The proof is ever welcome here 
Jlowever light that proof appear. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 71 



THE BLAZING SUN SAT. 



The blazing Sun sat on a winter's eve — 
Unto the cloud still clung her gleaming ray. 
And shall 1 pass from this dull world, and leave 
A beam to trace to where I mutely lay ? 



SONNET. 



"Tis sweet to dream when slumber's mild embrace 

Hath gently wooed us to ethereal rest; 

Hath swept the rougher thoughts of life away 

And gilded every cloud that darkly lay 

Along life's dim horizon and her sky. 

Hath stamped the glow of peace upon our face 

And stilled the tumult in our aching breast, 

AVhile sorrow's tear drop lingers in our eye. 

Ah, these are raptures known but for an hour; 

When we awake to bleak reality 

One sudden pang may thrill our bosoms core 

And life return as yesterday, and we, 

'faking our common way amid the strife, 

Pursue the future rs the past: — E'en so is life. 



72 SIERRA MAD HE, 



EPISTLE TO MISS EMMA S- 



Aecept these lines; 'tis friendship true 

That bids their numbers flow. 
Xo fire of love doth them pursue, 

Nor passions ardent glow. 
Ah, thou art young, thy heart is true, 

Though childish yet it be, 
And love that warms thy bosom through 

Ts tickle, wild and free. 

Thy heart is warm with love for man, 

Thou know'st yet not why ; 
"Tis nature's wise and goodly plan 

And who shall it deny? 
And blessed with that sweet love alone 

Man should be proud and true ; 
Who scorn the virtue they have known 

And vicious passions woo. 

And thou, with each fair, lovely charm 

Of womanhood art blest; 
Those sparkling eyes and heart so warm, 

In innocence caressed. 
And trusting man too soon, thy friend — 



AND OTHER POEMS, U 



Too often but thy foe — 
Ere womanhood, thy heart may bend 
En hopeless, icy woe. 



LINES TO THE SAME. 



Alas ! trust not the visioned friend 

Thy girlish heart adores, 
For fortune's winds thy bark doth tend 

To sorrow's gloomy shores. 
Thy charms were made to bless a home 

On virtue's golden path, 
So never let thy footsteps roam 

In vicious passion wrath. 



FAREWELL! FAREWELL 



Farewell ! Farewell ! for I must roam 
With saddened heart from thee, 

Unto a lone and dreary home 
And leave thee far from me. 



74 S1ERBA MAD BE, 

For fate hath willed my sad career 
And life's storms wildly blow, 

But to my heart thou wilt be dear 
Where'er I chance to go. 

But happy rest thy tender heart 

With sorrows aching now, 
Though we must now so sadly part 

Joy yet may crown that brow ; 
And thou wilt look on sorrows past 

While joys around thee shine, 
And rest thy weary soul at last 

And be forever . 



LINES TO THE SAME. 



The lovely flower at early morn 

With dews all blushing bright, 
Turns from the shades of night with scorn 

To greet the god of light. 
And clouds may gather dark the while, 

His ray may glimmer dim, 
The flower may fade, but still her smile 

Will e'er be turned to him. 



AND OTHEB POEMS. 75 

Thou art my heart's delusive light, 

Thy flower I would be, 
The sorrows past the shades of night 

From which to turn to thee. 
And darkening clouds for us they came 

Ere morning's early dawn 
And not a ray but love's bright flame 

E'er lit our journey on. 



FLOW GENTLY, WILLAMETTE. 



Flow gently, Willamette, beneath the green shade 
Which the tall, towering fir tree and maple hath 

made 
With their green winding- branches and boughs 

spreading wide 
To throw their soft shadow across the blue tide, 
And the tall, shady ash tree, the oak and the pine 
Encircled and brightened by the charming wood- 
bine 
That opens its buds in the clear summer air 
To mingle its sweetness with beauty's despair. 

Flow gently down by where my sweet Mary dwells 
And tell her the love in mv bosom still swells 



76 SIEBEA MAD BE, 

Which first in my boyhood I vowed to be true, 
Aye, swells, and is blushing as bright as the dew 
That falls in the springtime upon the green rose 
Which round the bright arbor so charmingly blows, 
The dewdrop that blushes and sparkles at dawn, 
Ere one misting vapor from its freshness is gone. 

Flow gently and tell her this heart hath long mourned 
For the sweetness of hours that has never returned, 
And its once quickened throb beats heavy and low, 
And all its fond gayety dwindled to woe ; 
Nor never again shall this young heart behold 
The bliss and the brightness of hours of old; 
Though not one faint spark from its mem'ry is fled — 
The memory and love in thy bosom is dead. 

Flow gently Willamette: — I never may gaze 
On the charms- of my childhood and infancy's days, 
Nor never again with sweet Mary to go, 
The idol of childhood and source of my woe ; 
Like the garden's sweet blossom that opens at dawn, 
But ere the full morning its freshness is gone ; 
The flower may still linger, its brightness delay, 
Its pure soul has vanished for ever away. 






AND OTHEB POEMS. 11 



OH COME EACH YOUTH. 



Oh come each youth 

I'll tell a truth, 
Aucl by it you may profit, 

And with my heart 

I hope thou art 
Not much inclined to scoff it. 

It is not such, 

Nor e'en so much 
As other tongues may lend you, 

But trust my word, 

If it is heard, 
It may some day befriend you. 

"Tis of the flights, 

The wrongs and rights 
Which Cupid e'er may bring you. 

For of each lass 

Which he may pass, 
A song he'll sweetly sing you. 

Some maiden fair 
Will find thy care, 



78 SI EBB A MAD BE, 

For her thou'lt love and languish ; 
If one intrude 
'Twill rouse thy blood 

To never-ceasing anguish. 



If then she would marry, 

Oh friend, never tarry, 
For Fortune may fail then to woo you : 

" There's always a slip 

'Tween the cup and the lip/ 7 
Which may prove a sad vacancy to yow. 

If for her you've a taste, 

Oh then, marry in haste 
And repent — -yes repent at your leisure; 

If to-day it brings sorrow, 

Just trust that to-morrow 
'Twill waft you the sweetest of pleasure. 



DEAR MOTHER. 



Dear mother, long within my heart 

Thy memory shall live, 
The sin thou didst which made us part 

I freely shall forgive, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 79 

When thou shalt home return again 

And cause it duly blest. 
And once relieve the weary pain 

That hovers in mv breast 



TO ONE WHO CAN BEST UNDER- 
STAND THEM. 



[The following lines may be accused of being an unworthy imitation 
of. Lord Byron's poem, bearing the same heading, and 1 will call attention 
to the fact that very different circumstances have called it into existence 
and clothed it in a very different expression. I will leave the reader to 
judge for himself.] 

Oh how I loved thee when my heart was young 

The pains arid sighs of misery shall tell, 
And though with willing hands my heart thou'st 

wrung, 
My hardest word to thee is " fare-thee-well.** 



Fare-thee-well, and if forever, 
Still my love for thee shall burn, 

Though I would forgive thee — never 
To thee can my heart return. 

Thou hast shunned even to address me 
When my seorners pressed around 



m SIEEEA MADBE, 

Though for that their smiles did bless thee 
Sad remembrance yet shall wound. 

Thou hast mocked me, thou hast spurned me, 
Thou hast breathed my name in scorn ; 

Go to them thy folly learned thee, 
Will they comfort while you mourn ? 

Go to them that with thee gathered 
Roses when life's morn was new ; 

Go to them — the flowers are withered — 
Has their friendship faded too ? 

Go to them, the false, the fleeting, 

False as thou hast been to me : 
Go to them and mark their greeting, 

Go and taste my misery. 

Go to them whose flattery fed thee, 
Fawned thee in thy happier hour, 

Go to them their smiles have fled thee, 
'Twas but sunshine ere the shower. 

Go and think of him that loved thee, 
Loved thee with a heart too true, 

Love that once had deeply moved thee 
Ere we bad our last adieu. 

Think thou not that I despise thee 
When Fin madly forced to go, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 81 

Still I love, though love unwisely, 
Love that bears me nought but woe. 

But thy love for me hath perished 

Like the snow in Summer's sun, 
And the hopes this heart once cherished 

Were as soon to be undone. 

Fare-thee-well, thou loved, thou fair one, 

Mirror of my youthful dreams, 
'Twere the balm of hope to share one 

Moment where thy kindness beams. 

Could I to my bosom press thee, 

Though thou'st left it oft so sad, 
Could thy smiles forever bless me 

As they once were free and glad : — 

Could I know thy heart beats truly 

As it once did beat for me, 
I could love and love thee duly, 

But, alas, it ne'er can be. 

Not that I would scorn to wed thee. 

Thou art loveliest still of all, 
.But my heart would e'er upbraid me 

When the past I would recall. 

Need I here or e'er repeat it? 
No, thou knowest it too well ; 



82 SI EBB A MAD BE, 

Better far could both forget it 
Since to us it thus befell. 

Oh, adieu, adieu forever, 

Why should hope again renew 

All the lingering ties must sever 
While I bid this last adieu. 



YE WHO WOULD SIGH. 



Ye who w-ould sigh for maids or raptures flown, 
Let not that sigh to vulgar hearts be known; 
For others are possessed of charms as well, 
Would joy to hear their own gay marriage bell, 
Would burn as warm in passion's rising tire, 
And lull thy grief and soothe thy bosom's ire ; 
Cast the sweet glow r of peace on all around 
And prove thy heart its haven there had found ; 
Forget the pains and pleasures ot the past 
And live one happ}? hour if 'twere thy last. 
And raptures : — scorn such vanity to seek, 
Which are but gilded dreams to lure the weak, 
And he w r ho would pursue at last will own 
That ere he grasped them they were ever flown, 
The self-suspended meteors of an hour 
That brightest gleam ere shades of melancholy lower. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 83 



TO MISS 



Respect has fled, but love remains 
And flings her mantle o'er the stains 
That mar thy sweet but truthless heart, 
That lost to nature, skilled in art, 
Would still essay to wield the dart, 
To try the string and bend the bow, 
That swiftest shafts of Cupid throw. 



He who greets me as a foe 
fehall find an honest foeman; 

Who by wile would lay me low 
Can be but lovely woman. 



84 SIERRA MADRE, 



LINES TO A BOUQUET PRE- 
SENTED BY A YOUNG LADY. 



Though thy lustre hath faded thy fragrance remains 
And rewards, lovely' maiden, thy patience and pains, 
And awakes in my bosom remembrance of hours 
That like thee have faded, thou beautiful flowers ; 
The fountains that fed them have vanished away 
And the heart that once treasured is farther than 

they, 
But the hope that endeared them is lingering still 
As thy sweetness the now faded ruin doth till. 
Thou speak'st the deep language w T ords never can 

tell, 
And breathes the soft passions that mutely must 

swell, 
And a token of friendship more dear than the smile 
Or the soft kiss at parting too oft to beguile; 
And the heart that hath gathered how pure it must be 
To seek in its sweetness an emblem in thee. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 85 



OH, TEMPT ME NOT 



Oh, tempt me not with those dark eyes 
That wrought me all my woe ; 

They promise but new miseries 
And haunt me where I go. 



& v 



They whet anew each pang and pain 
That time so slowly dulled, 

And wake to hopeless life again 
The pulse despair had lulled. 

The grief and woe of long, long years 
But moments now recount; 

What melted then my woe to tears 
Now freeze it in the fount. 

Let mercy rend those severed ties 

To never reunite, 
And gild not hopes' uncertain skies 

To set again in night. 



86 SIERBA MAT) HE. 



THREE LONG, LONG YEARS. 



Three long, long j^ears ago to-night 

Our hearts were gay, our hopes were bright, 

I clasped thee to my breast; 
Impatient love my bosom stirred ; 
I spoke — thy happy spirit heard — 

I need not say the. rest. 

A few unclouded days were ours, 
But fate, begirt with all his powers, 

AVas yet to break the dream ; 
The lingering hope was all in vain, 
The loving tie was burst in twain 

Like bubbles on the stream. 

The happy tide with love bedewed 

Though swift and strong, thy smiles renewed 

To purer waves and true; 
How soon, alas, that bliss was o'er 
And I had felt its joy no more, 

So swift is love's adieu. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

I sadly watched her founts decays 
As drop by drop it ebbed away — 

My very life seemed there ; 
I saw it feed love's desert sand 
And lent my own unwilling hand 

To quench it in despair. 

I did not weep, for that were vain, 
A sullen sadness seemed to reign 

The tyrant of the hour; 
Deep melancholy spread her pall 
And cast her deathly gloom o'er all, 

As tempests' shadows lower. 

I gave my love — thou promised thine - 
Our very hearts did intertwine, 

And vow to never part; 
How soon, alas, thou wast to go, 
The dream of bliss to end in woe 

And prove thy fickle heart. 

I can not call thee false, for oh ! 
How very sad it were to know 

One bitter thing of thee : 
The sad reflection to endure 
A heart so loving once and pure 

Could learn hypocrisy, 



88 SIERBA MADBE, 

And -mine is yet as pare and free 
As when I breathed it first to thee 

In numbers then uncouth; 
But thou art gone — my love, farewell, 
Unerring time alone shall tell 

My constancy and truth. 



JENNIE. 



Jennie ! thou art sweet and fair; 

Jennie ! thou art charming, 
Yet the voice that bade bew^are 

Is still my heart alarming. 

Could I view thee pure as when 
Girlhood's sweetness crowned thee, 

Lovely charms that blessed thee then 
Surely would have bound me. 

Yet not want of lovely charms 

Holds me from thy bosom, 
Mature gave thee cupid's arms 

And taught thee how to use them. 
But forbear the cruel blow 
Thou would'st wield to lay me low. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 89 



YOUTH'S ROSY BLOOM LINGERS. 



Youth's rosy bloom lingers 

Still fresh on thy face, 
Which Time's certain fingers 

Too soon must erase. 

Like the tide that sweeps over 

The sands of the shore, 
'Tis destined to cover 

What lingered before. 

Like the chill wind of Autumn 
That sweeps through the bowers 

And scatters their foliage 
And withers their flowers. 

Like Summer's sweet flower, 

All blooming and fair 
That charms for an hour 

While its brightness is there. 

The bee hovers nigh 

Till its freshness is gone, 



90 SIEEEA MADBE, 

Flits carelessly by 
And forever is flown. 

The wild winds may scatter 
Its scentless remains, 

As those that now flatter 
Will smile at thy pains. 



FARE-THEE-WELL. 



Far e-thee- well, when life is closing 
Think of him that loved thee well, 

Think, when calmly there reposing 
How thou'st felt my bosom swell. 

Think of me while life is flowing 
Onward to the eternal deep, 

Think when falsely thou'rt bestowing 
Love to make another weep. 

Think of me when sorrow clouds thee 
How I'd gladly share each pain ; 

Think, when melancholy shrouds thee, 
That we ne'er may meet again. 



AND OTHEB POEMS. 91 

Fare-thee-well, when to another 
Thou art linked and leve is o'er ; 

Think of me then as a brother, 
As a brother — never more. 

Fare-thee-well, may heaven bless thee, 

May that providence defend, 
May a nobler arm caress thee 

Than was ever mine to lend. 

May that heart so gently heaving 

Never know the pain it gives ; 
May the heart thine own deceiving 

Know but misery while it lives. 



A SAD, WEARY STRANGER. 



A sad, weary stranger, unknowing, unknown, 
In the land where we trace him stood pensive, alone, 
The bleak winds were whistling, the cloud-dark- 
ened sky 
Was closing above him, he raised not his eye ; 
The daylight was fading o'er moorland and hill 



92 



SIEBRA MADRE, 



And the storm-drops were falling — he lingered 

there still: 
No friend or companion, no loved one was near 
To soothe his deep sorrow or lend him a tear. 

He leaned on his arm as he stood in the land 
And his chin rested hard on his firmly clenched 

hand, 
And his long silken beard, which he ofttimes ca- 
ressed, 
Swept loose and neglected across his sad breast. 
His firmly set lips did but little impart, 
Save that a cold sorrow lurked deep in his heart. 
Around his broad forehead his deep wrinkled brow 
The silver-tinged tresses unheeded did flow. 



He gazed in the distance — 'twas not to behold 
What there to his vision broad nature unrolled — 
He knew not, he reck'ed not, he had not a care 
For the scenes that lay smiling to welcome him 

there, 
But far, far away, through the half-gathered tear, 
His vision seemed streaming on objects more dear. 
On objects that once kindled hope in his breast 
But now brought it sorrow and left it depressed. 

He gazed on the scenes which his childhood had 
known 



AND OTHER POEMti. 93 

And sighed for the charms which had vanished and 

flown: — 
He sighed for the father, the mother so kind 
Who had wept to behold him to sorrow consigned ; 
The sisters, the brothers, his infancy knew, 
Whose hearts were as tender and affection as true, 
And gazed on the friends through the long weary 

years 
And struggled to conquer the half-flowing tears. 

He gazed on the pathway his manhood had trod 
And wept o'er the sins against man and his God, 
And those tempest-torn features waxed hard on his 

face 
As his thoughts, though forbidden, that pathway 

would trace ; 
They were not the high lawless deed of his clime 
Which mercy abandons and justice calls crime, 
But sins which his conscience again and again 
Had struggled to vanquish but struggled in vain. 

Behold him, alas, in his madness to stand — 
The bright dreams of gold led him far from his land 
Ere the summer of life had dawned on his brow 
Or the first bloom of hope had drooped on the bow. 
Those dreams have all vanished like a false fleeting 
gem 



94 SIERRA MADRE, 

And those hopes have all withered like flow'rs on 

the stem, 
The sunbeam of Life is fast fading away 
And the cloud of misfortune hangs dark o'er the 

ray. 



SONNET. 



Affection, love, thou art a fearful thing, 
Wrapt in the maze of many a different name, 
Which are but echoes of each other's sound 
Bourne to the heart on one untiring wing 
Which in its flight doth overleap all bound 
And pierce the darkest shadow with its flame ; 
Nor chained by fetters to the prison's wall, 
Nor forced an exile from th' unwilling heart, 
Though time may temper and though distance gall, 
Though power may hamper and vile cunning thwart, 
At once the essence of our bliss and woe, 
Our sweetest friend and yet our bitterest foe, 
The soul's unmantled spy and ceaseless guest, 
Welcome alike to prince' or peasant's humbler breast. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 95 



OH, BRILLIANT SUN. 



Oh, brilliant sun, I gazed on thee 
When morning's beam was bright, 

And never thought that thou could'st be 
So very swift of flight 

I gazed and saw thy golden beam 

But that was all I knew, 
And reck'ed not in my early dream 

That thou wert fleeting too. 

I gazed, and Nature's smiling face 

As lovely wast as thou ; 
No lingering shadow could I trace 

Along her placid brow. 

The dewy freshness all was there, 

No vapor yet had fled 
To mix with morning's purple air 

And dim the light she shed. 

I heeded not the fleeting hour 
That bore me swiftly on, 



90 SIEBEA MAD BE, 

Till noonday storms of life did lower, 
And mornings' rays were gone. 

I saw the tempest gathering fast 
Around thy brilliant beam ; 

I saw the full ray overcast, 
And in her shadow gleam. 



THE DAY OF THE CHIEFTAIN. 



The following lines were addressed to a friend on the defeat of lioscoe 
Conkling in his issue made against the appointment of Robertson to the 

f>osition of Receiver in the Custom House at the port of New York, and 
lis resignation, and the humiliating disappointment which followed to 
him so unexpectedly in the New York Legislature. It was composed at 
the time for the sake of amusement, and without any intention of giving 
it any political significance whatever. I insert it in these pages. 

The day of the chieftain, poor Koscoe, is o'er 
And his bold voice is heard in our councils no more ; 
The lone w r ind shall sigh where his diction once 

swelFd, 
His voice is now silent, his spirit is quelled; 
He warred with a chieftain whose standard was 

s'trong, 
Though few were his numbers, he baffled him long; 
His motto and watchword was never retreat, 
And the boast of his faction — the lack of defeat. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 97 

He hath shown in our senates a meteor of fame, 
Bat hath vanished and left but the shadow of 

shame ; 
No gleam of his glory hath lingered behind, 
And his madness hath left him no solace of mind; 
He clung to a hope with the grasp of despair, 
Nor forsook it when ruin awaited him there ; 
On the wild wave of fortune his bark hath been 

tossed, 
Now wrecked on her shores, in obscurity lost. 



THOU ART NOT FALSE. 



Thou art not false, yet thou art cold 

As evening's fading beam, 
Or is thy heart of warmer mold 

Than thou wouldst have it seem ? 

Thou art not beautiful, yet fair 

As lily in her bloom, 
And that sweet soul embosomed there 

Would virtues self illume. 



98 SIEBBA MADEE, 



I GAZED ON THEE. 






I gazed on thee when youth was bright, 
And loved thee — not as now I might. 
But with a warm, impulsive flame 
That blazed and vanished as it came ; 
Like Autumn's fire on prairies spread, 
By breezes fanned, by grasses fed, 
It leaps anon and flies where'er 
Her winds may blow or breezes bear; 
Such is the pulse that marks the hour 
When } 7 outh is swayed by passion's power, 
Till manhood curbs the restless flight 
And holds its wandering steps aright; 
No bursting flames light up the sky, 
No kindling beams blaze forth and die, 
But burns alike anthracite coal, 
Deep, quenchless, lasting as the soul. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 90 



DEAR MARY. 



Dear Mary, loud the wintry winds 
Are whistling now without, 

And thus my heart companion finds 
In misery and doubt. 

It feeds the hungry thoughts of woe 

And keys the every chord 
From whence immortal measures flow- 

The lyric's loved reward. 

It lends new wings to memory 
And backward turns her flight; 

The vanished hours again I see 
And live them o'er to-night. 

I hear that sweet, bewitching voice 
That charmed me long ago ; 

A thoughtless moment I rejoice, 
Then deeper sink in woe. 



100 SIERRA MABRE, 



LINES WRITTEN IN A YOUNG 
LADY'S AUTOGRAPH ALBUM. 



Oh scorn the gleam of vanity, 

And flattery despise, 

Beneath the gauzy mantle he 

But cold hypocrisies, 

And cling throu' life to love and truth. 

'Twill soothe misfortune's rage; 

The noblest pride of golden youth 

And hope of weary age. 



THERE IS A DREAD. 



There is a dread of paths untried 

Experience has himself denied, 

A very joy in danger's hour 

That soothes its wrath and curbs its pow'r, 

And launched upon the wildest wave, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 101 

I'll fly to glory or the grave ; 
Nor daunt me less nor daunt me more 
Her angry waves and rocky shore, 
Than doth the pool's unruffled face, 
Since I can speed with wilder pace, 
For hope can lull the darkest fears 
And buoy the heart thro' grief and cares, 
And thus repay the blighted soul, 
Should Fate deny ambitious goal. 

Tho' many a haven fair invite 
My bark to anchor in its flight, 
Where the pure waters rest in peace 
And toils shall end and dangers cease, 
Still shall I urge her course along 
And touch my harp and weave my song, 
Till brighter shores, than these I see 
Along my course, shall smile for me. 

Tho' many a haven shall den}^ 
The bliss I seek, yet shall I fly 
The barren shores and desert strand, 
That still in welcome may expand, 
And brave alone the mad career 
Of waves and tempests raging drear, 
Till I shall find some lovely isle 
Or sunny strand of south to smile 
In changeless beauty all its own — 



102 SIEBEA MADBE, 

Yes, smile, and smile for me alone 
Ere I shall furl my flapping sail, 
Or fate, whatever it be, bewail, 
Nor forced by fortune, dealt amiss, 
To soothe my woe in vulgar bliss; 
Aspire to grasp ideal charms 
Or none within these manly arms. 



IMPROMPTU LINES. 



[Written in an Autograph Album belonging to a young lady, who, on 
a former occasion, had. by misrepresentation, been actuated to treat mo 
with marked indifference, not to say evident disrespect, but upon dis- 
covering her mistake respectfully apologized, and requested my Auto- 
graph as evidence of her sincerity. After writing the first ten lines she 
insisted upon my signature, at which I penned the concluding four.] 

Where scorn reposed let pity rise 
And dry repentance' tearful eyes, 
And smile greet smile and frown depart, 
And peaceful sunshine robe the heart ; 
Across the gulf the hand extend 
And grasp the welcome of a friend. 

And ye who here would search my name 
Will be but ill requited, 



AND OTHEB POEMS. 103 

For e'en to save the page from shame 
'Twere better not to write it. 



Who could renounce an angel's plea? 
Or scorn a fairer maid's decree ? 
And since thy will would have it done 
I sign it — 



OH, DO NOT SCORN. 



Oh, do not scorn the sigh, the tear 
That I may pour unheeded here, 
Tho' breathed in vain are yet as true 
As hope is hopeless to renew. 

The years have flown like winter's wind 
And left their memories cold behind, 
Without one ray to gild her sky 
Or melt the gloom of misery. 

The hopes of youth are swept away 
As Autumn heaps the flower's decay ; 



104 SIERBA MADEE, 

The leafless trunk may yet remain 
Perchance to bud nor bloom again. 

The thunders' peal or lightning's stroke 
May blight the flower or rend the oak, 
Yet grant that life might still delay 
To linger on thro' slow decay. 

How sadder still must be the heart 
That love hath wooed to sweet repose 

And, pierced by fate's relentless dart, 
Awakened to a world of woes. 




